


Jane Austen's Got Nothing To Do With This (aka Clickbait)

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Series: Tumblr made me do it [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (which is the best tag ever - I will fight you on this), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author regrets all of Author's life choices, Author think Author is funny, Because of Reasons, Bunker Fic, I apologize to Jane Austen, I'd wish I was drunk - then this would've made more sense, I'll take suggestions, Implied Dean Winchester being not as straight as he could've been, Lucifer went into the cage, On the other hand:, Prankster Gabriel, Sudden tentacles are no less sudden than other sudden things, This is most definitely not funny though, Tumblr made me do it, Ugly dog, Why are titles 'required', then fic ignores canon again, then fic proceeds to ignore canon, up until the point where they find the bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10401477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: In which the Author paraphrases (???) Jane Austen and it's all downhills from there





	

**Author's Note:**

> The picture upon which Sam's dog is based (I'm sorry!?)  
> 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a child in possession of all their senses must be in want of a dog, Sam bitterly thought to himself as he looked down at the hideous creature standing at his feet. As if the Thing (and what the hell _was_ it even) was somehow able to accurately read Sam’s emotional state it started to whine pitifully giving him its best version of puppy dog eyes – something the hunter found downright frightening when taking into account that one eye was not only twice as big as the other but also looked as if it was making its way out the socket it was in; and that was of course overlooking the fact that it wasn’t brown like the other eye, oh no that’ve just been too fricking normal, no instead it was some mix of the reddish brown color of dried blood and the bright red of artery spatter.  
And Sam might’ve been willing to overlook the eyes (probably not, but he could’ve made sure not to _look_ at them) but then there was the fact that the Thing’s muzzle looked like it’d had an unfortunate encounter with a shovel that has left the upper half going right while the lower is going left, giving a perfect view of the Thing’s too long teeth sticking out of its mouth. But still, Sam would’ve been willing to look past all that seeing as a dog (and yes, he assumes that’s what the Thing’s supposed to be or maybe has been once) is an oddly considerate gift from his asshole boyfriend; but of course an ordinary dog hadn’t been good enough for the biggest bag of dicks of them all, nor had an extremely ugly dog, no, somehow that little weasel of a _fricking archangel_ had given him not only the ugliest dog in the entirety of the multiverse but the ugliest dog that came equipped with **fucking goddamn tentacles**. And yelling that obviously didn’t make the sounds of an _actual_ dying weasel any less louder as his equally assholeish brother was rolling around on the floor in helpless laughter, wheezing so hard Sam under any other circumstances would’ve been worried something was seriously wrong (might even insist on taking the older hunter to the ER) but now just made him scowl even harder, looking from the Thing to the man before throwing his hands in the air in the universal gesture of “why me?” before turning on his heel to go back to his room where he slammed the door with a satisfying ‘bang’.

-

Getting worried when after a few hours Dean hasn’t stopped by to knock annoyingly at Sam’s door he gingerly pries it open and sneaks out along the walls. It’s only years upon years of horrifyingly scary sights that keep him from screaming his lungs out; his mind going seventy mile a minute trying to reconcile the monster before him with the dog-thing from a few hours ago. For one it’s gotten bigger, seemingly stuck in place at the end wall of the War Room caught between floor and ceiling and unable to move its body that is now significantly less canine and a whole lot more rounded like a sea anemone, its tentacles making up for its lack of legs and movement as they’ve grown longer, sliding over every surface of the room and covering them in some kind of clear fluid.  
Of course this would be the time where sensible human beings would either scream or run (or both, both is always good) before calling the police, fire brigade, the goddamn army for all that matters; and the thought does cross Sam’s mind, who knows he’d might’ve done that it if hadn’t been for the teeny tiny fact that one of the tentacles – a little shorter, a little thinner than the rest – has made its way around Dean’s waist and is holding him upside down close to what has retained some of the shape of the deformed muzzle. Sam starts praying, desperately calling for somebody, anybody, but as usual when Gabriel plays one of his stupid pranks the entirety of the Host has gone incommunicado and seeing as his older brother is out cold (the only explanation for Dean not yelling every profanity known to man at the Thing that’s now _licking_ him, almost enveloping the older hunter in an oversized, red tongue that has the same color as the two, small eyes right above aforementioned muzzle).  
Now, Sam’s been a hunter for more years than he’d care to adit and has been doing research even longer (both his father and Dean being of the ‘shoot first and ask never’ and Sam not being all that eager replicating every and all of their mistakes) but never once has he come across anything that could go from dog to tentacle monster ever and much less few hours; and if he doesn’t know what it is it’s probably going to be a pain killing the thing which in return will lead to dead people before he figure it out, and seeing as there’s only him and Dean in close proximity to the thing it’s likely that either or both Wichesters are going to meet their end here, in the relative safety of The Men of Letters’ bunker. And then he remembers that somewhere in the mess that Dean calls his room the Colt has gotten a hiding place and as silently as he came, Sam turns around hurrying towards his brother’s room while praying to everything that is holy (which does in no way include his dumbass boyfriend) that the dog-turned-monster won’t decide to actually _eat_ Dean before he can come back.  
Dean’s room’s is even more of a disaster zone than Sam had realized, though he’s more surprised about the sheer amount of things his brother has managed to hoard than by the realization that apparently Dean hates putting things back where they came from. Sadly it means he has to look at some very sticky magazines with a suspicious lack of busty _anything_ and a rather alarming amount toilet paper still in their plastic wrapping (Sam might vaguely recall a trip to a walmart back before Lucifer was sent into the cage where his brother was muttering about listening to Chuck of all people) but finally he managed to find the Colt lying next to an angel blade in a box all the way back at the wall under Dean’s bed. Triumphantly he ran back to the War Room not caring one bit of whether or not he made any noise the monster-thing could hear.  
It even seemed to be at the last moment, too, as the tentacle anemone thing was lifting the older hunter high in the air, slowly lowering him towards the opened once a muzzle now more a gaping hole that was apparently something akin to its mouth. Not really thinking it through Sam lifted the Colt, squeezed the trigger and then it seemed as if time was standing still, the bullet making its way from the muzzle of the Colt through the air inching closer to the whatever the hell it was, narrowly avoiding Dean before landing right between the small, red eyes. The ugly-dog-turned-who-cares-what made a sound like a balloon slowly losing air while an asthmatic sheepherder was trying to breathe new life into an innocent bystander who for some unfathomable reason was talking like he’d inhaled more helium than could possibly be healthy for a human being, before it started to shrink inwards on itself and then with a quiet ‘poof’ (and a loud thud, as Dean fell to the floor) imploded.

  


Sighing to himself Sam took the few steps to where his brother was lying on the floor, the older man slowly blinking himself into consciousness, taking the hand Sam reached down to him and standing on wobbling feet he took a look around the room, before looking Sam square in the eye:  
“I don’t want to know, just tell your boyfriend to get rid of the glitter or I _will_ kill him.”

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> [As you can clearly see this is in no way my fault... ](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/158467455940/spncoldesthits-marchs-prompt-is-mini-bingol)


End file.
